


Dénouement

by GwiYeoWeo



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, and before all these prophecies and kings junk got thrown at them, half of it is at least, sorta - Freeform, then Ardyn catches The Feels and gets sentimental, when they used to be little bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-25 21:42:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18171815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwiYeoWeo/pseuds/GwiYeoWeo
Summary: Somnus draped one end across Ardyn’s shoulder and fell back onto his stomach, shuffling close to his brother’s side and draping the other end across his back. It was barely large enough to cover both of them, but with Somnus snug against Ardyn, they managed to fit themselves underneath the comforting weight.“Good?” Ardyn asked, lightly bumping his shoulder against his little brother.“Good.”Somnus rested his head against Ardyn’s arm, eyes following the text on the page and ears listening intently to his older brother’s voice, finding solace in the warmth of each other’s presence.He remembers simple times filled with simple joys.Somnus used to pick out his weekly book from the family library. Ardyn used to pitch a blanket fort and read stories to his little brother, picking out the black text by the light of their glowing magic.





	Dénouement

**Author's Note:**

> According to that interview, Somnus and Ardyn got along pretty well as children.
> 
> no beta we die like uhhhh ardyn

The wheels rattled and creaked along the floor as Somnus struggled to tug the ladder across, dragging it over to the towering shelf of mismatched books and spine colors. It's rather late at night, and he hoped he didn't make too much noise. If his keepers found out he's out of bed at this hour, he's likely to get an earful, and he'd rather not listen to Madame Celine's raspy voice, which could only be a punishment in itself. So despite the light burn in his arms, from manhandling the uncooperative ladder around, Somnus quickly climbed up the bars, only stopping at the tenth row to pluck out a sizable book set in a deep red binding.

He's had his eye on this one for a while, ever since the servants hauled in the cart full of texts his father had bought from a caravan of traveling merchants. He flipped the book over in one hand, admiring the leaves of gold embedded into the worn cover. If he had the time, he'd love to savor the texture of the smooth leather underneath his fingertips, but he needed to get out of the danger zone. If someone caught him now, all his efforts would be for naught. He hadn't memorized the shift changes and patrol schedules of their watchmen, their regular routes and lazy shortcuts, only to be thwarted now of all nights.

With the book clutched to his chest, Somnus carefully climbed down the ladder, minding his feet in the dim light of their perpetually lit torches, a Caelum innovation fueled by oil and family magic.

He rounded a corner, expertly navigating his way through their maze of a library, took several turns here and there, and cut through the one row of shelves with the splintered side. He paused at the grand entrance, an open archway that reached the ceiling, and sidled along the wall until he could peek his head out into the hallway. He waited, straining his ears for the telltale sound of footsteps and the iron scabbard striking against metal buckles, until the faint echoes grew close — dangerously close — before fading away into the distance once more.

Somnus darted out, bare feet quietly padding across their marble floors, both arms clutching the book to his chest and cradling it like a precious egg. He weaved through the labyrinthine halls and corridors, took each twist and turn as if they were straight and narrow paths, pausing and ducking away to avoid the patrolling nightguards.

It always came with a sense of thrill, that risk of getting caught sending a little bit of adrenaline to his tiny boy heart. Sometimes, he added a bit of flair and imagination, pretended to be a valiant spy stealing a kingdom's secrets or a dastardly villain escaping his prison cell. The scenarios changed, depending on his mood or latest inspiration, but the end destination was always the same.

Somnus slowed as he reached the twin doors, one set slightly ajar in invitation. To keep everything hushed and silent, no knock or whispered request to be allowed inside. There was only the quiet creak of the hinges, as he pushed the door and let himself in, and the click of the lock when he closed the door behind him.

“Ardyn?” he quietly called out, as if the very walls could hear him.

Somnus squinted his eyes, trying to see through the thick of darkness that settled in the room, with nothing but the light of the stars and the waning moon outside the tall windows. “Brother?” he tried once again, wondering if Ardyn fell asleep on him.

A soft pink lit from the corner of the room, and Somnus could make out the blurred outline of the thick veil that muted the light and within it, the vague shape of someone curled up. Just as the light that sweetly glowed, he felt his own mood brighten with the relieved smile that crept onto his lips, and he quickly fumbled through the furniture to join Ardyn. He didn’t even complain about stubbing his toe on Ardyn’s favorite armchair.

Closer now, Somnus could make out the wooden chairs and the short table propping up the blankets draped over them, even recognizing the quilt their late mother made for each of them. It was dark, with nothing but Ardyn’s pale magic to guide him by, but he could recognize the pattern and her handiwork anywhere. He briefly ran his fingertips across the worn fabric, before reaching a corner and lifting it up to slip himself inside the blanket fort.

He’s always amazed by how spacious it was inside. Perhaps it was the illusion of the darkness outside that kept him from seeing just how large it was, or perhaps it was the extra touch of magic that Ardyn had a knack for but Somnus had yet to master. But it’s cozy, and he couldn’t remember a time it never was, with all their finest pillows and extra bedding padding the floor and sides.

In the middle, Ardyn sat with his legs crossed underneath his nightgown, his hands nurturing a loose orb of glowing magics that tinted the space with a gentle scarlet. He looked up from his hands to shift his gaze toward Somnus, a teasing smile on his lips. “I thought you got caught, since it was taking you so long.”

“Hey, I wasn’t _that_ slow,” Somnus retorted, watching the light flicker and float to the ceiling of their blankets. He fell to his knees and ducked beneath the quilt, crawling into the space of their little haven. He handed the book to Ardyn and made himself comfortable, grabbing an extra plush pillow and propping it underneath him as he flopped onto his stomach.

While Somnus busied himself with getting settled, Ardyn ran a hand over the unfamiliar book’s cover. “Oh, this one’s from those merchants?” he asked. He untangled his legs and took on his little brother’s same position, laying on his stomach and snuggling up to Somnus’ side. He propped the book up for both of them to admire — but now under a different light, he noticed. Somnus had conjured up his own little blue light, adding it to Ardyn’s above, turning the light red hue into something more purple.

“Yeah, I think it’s an anthology?” Somnus said, running a finger along the golden script of the cover.

“I guess we’ll find out.” Ardyn opened the book, flipping past the first few pages until he found the table of contents. It looked that Somnus was right, considering nature of the list and its titles. They both quietly read down the list, Ardyn silently memorizing the ones he’d like to read later, because he always let Somnus do the picking.

It’s just how they fell into step, no delegating tasks or arguing for the position. Somnus was responsible for choosing the book or story, since he had a knack for picking out the interesting ones; and Ardyn was the grand storyteller, due to his penchant for theatre and the dramatics — and because Somnus, on one particular night, said he liked his older brother’s reading voice.

“That one,” Somnus said, pointing a small finger at _Chapter Six: Ten Years and One Night._ “Page eighty-four.”

Ardyn obeyed, turning through the pages to the mentioned chapter. He kept quiet, not reading out just yet, as he waited for Somnus to finish up his final touches, who suddenly sat back up on his knees and spread his hands before him. In a quick fizzle of sparks, Somnus pulled out a blanket from the aether, a thick quilt embroidered with soft patterns and blue and white fabric. A memento from their mother, just as the one atop their blanket fort.

Somnus draped one end across Ardyn’s shoulder and fell back onto his stomach, shuffling close to his brother’s side and draping the other end across his back. It was barely large enough to cover both of them, but with Somnus snug against Ardyn, they managed to fit themselves underneath the comforting weight.

“Good?” Ardyn asked, lightly bumping his shoulder against his little brother.

“Good.”

Somnus rested his head against Ardyn’s arm, eyes following the text on the page and ears listening intently to his older brother’s voice, finding solace in the warmth of each other’s presence.

Somnus would probably fall asleep halfway through the story, remember even less of it come the morning; Ardyn would probably fall out of character and fail to stifle a yawn, but he’d never fall asleep before his brother did. Either they would fall asleep here, in their nest of pillows and blankets, or Ardyn would find it in himself to haul his brother out and into his bed. But no doubt the servants would be wondering where Somnus had run off to, only to realize he slept through the night in Ardyn’s room, meaning the young boy must have snuck out past his bedtime. There may be a couple lectures, from Madame Celine and her ear-grating voice, one for Somnus and his bad bed habits and one for Ardyn and the mess of his blanket fort.

But they’d continue this, their little escapade from reality and into their world crafted for just the two of them, for stolen hours and old books and mother’s quilts.

 

 

Or so their naive hearts had believed, Ardyn thought.

He kicked at the rubble and splintered wood at his feet, shuffling the fallen stone and broken metal around. It's old, dusty, and all terribly broken. Ever since the fall ten years ago, he didn't really think to visit Insomnia again, didn't care to see the broken skeleton of the once grand city. Watching it burn and collapse was all the delight he had ever wanted, and seeing the old ruins were like scavenging the old ashen remnants of those mesmerizing fireworks on that fateful night.

Maybe it's some subconscious pull or a last ill-made joke from Fate, but he found himself wandering through the broken remains and into a small library. Whatever guided him here, he didn't know, but he wasn't going to dwell on it. Despite all the destruction, the Citadel and her towers were quite intact, aside from the gaping holes, cave-in's, and fallen floors here and there. This little reading haven had certainly seen better days, with her shattered shelves and burnt remains; but hidden among the rubble, Ardyn could spot some salvageable books.

It's small, compared to his old family library, but he's sure there's a larger, main library hidden away somewhere in the Citadel. Still, nostalgia and childhood memories ebbed through him, sweeter times of simplicity and innocent shenanigans rousing the bit of humanity he had left. He must be getting old, to be thinking back on distant childhood days with such fondness and melancholy — two thousand years and a few decades would probably do that.

Maybe he'd go treasure hunting later, search for the main library hidden hidden among all these layers.

For now, though, he's content with picking up the survivors and brushing the concrete and ashes off them, stashing them away in the aether should they be in decent condition. The less fortunate, the ones torn or burnt beyond recognition, he left behind.

Ardyn kept a book in his hands, flipping through the charred pages as he walked along. He wrinkled his nose at the contents, some scholarly study or textbook about cryptic sciences, and tossed it to the wayside. Academia made for poor bedtime stories.

He left something of a trail of books on the way to the throne room, picking through his small collection and weeding out the less interesting texts. By the time he finally ascended the dais, he had less than half of what he had picked up. Ardyn reached into his infinite magic pocket and plucked out a sizable cushion to toss onto the throne. For whatever reason, the ancient kings had decided to keep the seat as hard and flat as possible; even more mysterious was how they had all managed to sit upon it for hours and still keep something of a rump at the end of the day.

He opened the gates of his arsenal, let his little collection of pilfered books fall and clatter around his feet and the throne, before settling himself in his seat and making himself at home.

Ardyn picked up a tattered book at random, testing the weight and feel of it in his hands. Worn and gritty but still legible. There's a golden script on this one, that he hadn't noticed before, so faded as it was.

Somnus had quite fancied the ones with pretty covers and ornate lettering.

Ardyn liked to think his brother's influence still held here, that Somnus somehow had a hand in guiding the book to him. It's sobering, almost. Through all the years imprisoned at Angelgard, Ardyn had thought nothing but rage and pain and betrayal. And even after his release, he did nothing but plot and scheme, feeding his desires for vengeance and substituting his agony with a certain mania.

In all the time he had, he never truly let himself ponder about Somnus, too engrossed with bitterness and spite to think of his brother as anyone other than a vile traitor. Out of fear, maybe. Because, underneath it all, no matter how much he had wished otherwise, he still held a love for his little brother. He knew Somnus held the same, but Ardyn had refused to acknowledge it. It had been by accident, when he had been toying around in Niflheim’s archives and playing with Verstael’s computers, when he found the data cataloguing old Lucian artifacts, found the translated texts of an old king’s remorse and regrets for a forgotten brother. Ardyn had nearly blown up the entire research facility, with the surge of confused anger and no proper outlet to direct it upon.

Now, with nothing but his thoughts and the cold silence, he had plenty of time and space to do just that — to ponder. He wondered when they had stopped reading together, when Somnus grew more lively and bold while Ardyn turned more quiet and reserved. He wondered how he had never seen that rift between them, why he never stopped to mend that first tear in their bond. He wondered how they were each so blind to their own ambitions and methods, combined with pride and some extreme morph of sibling rivalry, that they never stopped to see and consider the other's reasoning.

Somnus had been strict and utilitarian, sought to burn the entire garden to rid its disease. Ardyn had wanted to pick through each petal and leaflet, scrutinize every wound and rot in excruciating detail. Somnus would kill it all, blooms and weeds; Ardyn would die before he even got through half of it.

Ardyn hadn't wanted to admit it, but it had been his own folly that led to his demise. He had been a fool, to think he could heal the entirety of Eos. He was but one man, and not even the gods could stop the Scourge. Somnus, of course, had his own failings and faults, but both of them were to blame.

And with his impending death looming over him, he just simply did not find it in himself to hang onto the dredges any longer. The resentment was gone, the fury snuffed into dying embers. He was weary and exhausted, and all he wanted was to rest. With nothing but past memories and the promise of oblivion.

He thought of the possibilities, of his end. Nothing was ever clear cut with the gods, and he was never told of the specifics. Would he simply cease to be? His soul, having become one and the same with the Scourge, may as well just be cleanly wiped out of existence. Or perhaps, there was true salvation at the end, and he would be shown grace and allowed to pass on. Whichever the case, Ardyn wouldn't argue for one over the other. He just wanted it all to end.

Though, if he would be allowed a last request, he wouldn't argue against that either. And with how sentimental he's feeling, he'd be quite fine with a simple one. It would be pleasant if he could briefly relive those small joys, those precious hours spent reading under the light of their magic and the protection of cozy blankets.

But if he couldn't have it, Ardyn would just have to make do. Because he was here, in the throne room and with the dying Crystal chained above. Here, where the Kings of Yore would most certainly gather, within the Old Wall that held splinters of their sleeping souls. He couldn't call upon them, not without the Ring and certainly not with his _qualifications,_ but there was a tether here that tied them from the Beyond to the living. And if nothing else, Ardyn had an imagination and a tiny hope in his heart.

He popped open the book, foregoing the introductory pages and skipping straight to the first chapter. He imagined his little brother at his side, sitting on the arm of the throne and peering over his shoulder to read along. He imagined the heavy quilt on his shoulders, sharing their mother’s gift between them and wrapping it around themselves. He imagined they were children again, little boys with too much time on their hands and not a care in the world.

“Wait just a while longer, brother dear. And perhaps I'll read you one last story?” He spoke to no one but himself, yet he liked to think Somnus was here, waiting and watching from the other plane.

He read out the first lines, his voice carrying across the empty space and echoing off the grand walls and tiles. If he felt the brush of a hand across his shoulder, he didn't pull away or lean into it but kept his hands settled beneath the book. If he saw a flicker of blue light from the corner of his vision, he didn't look but only kept his eyes on the pages, reading aloud as he once did in what seemed like lifetimes ago.

He had waited two millenniums, so what’s a few more days? They’d see each other again soon enough. So here, now, he let himself drift into their little world again, filled with crafted visions and wondrous tales of fantastical creatures and heroes, with Somnus ever at his side.  

**Author's Note:**

> Also, my heart isn't ready for the DLC


End file.
